We’ve learned something about privacy lately, namely that it doesn’t exactly exist. The case against the man accused of murdering four students in Idaho shows that cellphone tracking and ubiquitous surveillance cameras make it possible for law enforcement to learn a great deal about a person of interest. Spy satellites enable intelligence agencies to focus in on you as you park at the drive-up window and see how many Egg McMuffins you ordered and whether you take your coffee light or black. And a defamation lawsuit against Fox has subpoenaed internal memos showing that the network’s top stars managed to forget what is fact and what is not and why they should care.

There’s no getting around the fact that we’re more visible than we can imagine and if you care to be paranoid, you now have a reason to be, though in fact the spyware is gathering so much data, gazillions of gigabytes, more than anybody can analyze, and so there is safety in confusion.

Our ancestors came to this great vast country expecting to find freedom, including the freedom to pee in your own back forty without the Department of Urination ticketing you and when the neighbors got too close they headed west and crossed the Missouri and looked for wide-open spaces where you could see for a mile and not see anybody and so know that others aren’t watching you.

To be observed, or feel observed, is to be inhibited. And as I write this, I realize I’m sitting in my living room in my underwear and the shades aren’t pulled and if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go put on a pair of pants.

Okay. Good. Thanks for your patience.